All Saints Day 2023

 

Having become an Episcopalian in college, I started my observation of All Saints Day in the 1980s in Tuscaloosa at Canterbury Chapel.  Each year I was delighted to learn about saints during the parade of saints the Sunday School children put on.  Then, I got a little older. I had friends and family pass away. I realized that those people I knew were also saints for me.

At St. Thomas, we read a list of people who had passed away during the last year. The service continued with the tolling of a bell that was  both solemn and hopeful.  I decided that I would make a list of my own personal saints who have gone to heaven. 

Friends of Laurie

My boss and friend, Chiquita Marbury, passed away in November 2004.  An early adopter of technology, she was also a passionate mentor and an excellent leader for the Technology in Motion team.

Tim Cooper, a friend from Canterbury, who was taken way too soon by lung cancer. Tim lived his best life all the time, but truly embraced it when he got his diagnosis.

Elizabeth Kent was a true Southern lady. Talented in cooking, gardening, and other arts, Elizabeth tried to teach me to knit.  Let’s just say that she is a saint for trying, but it was not to be.

The Rev. Ray Pradat was often a supply priest for us at Canterbury. I knew exactly what to do when I was a chalice bearer when he served.  He also delivered Meals on Wheels in Tuscaloosa until much to his chagrin, we started delivering him meals.

Gary Demore was married to my best friend, Luanne, for 25 years.  After Gary retired as a Methodist minister, he continued to send out a weekly reflection to his “special” email list.  He and I shared a love of writing.

Woody Zeigler was a true legend. Just this week as the church was preparing for Lobsterfest 30, someone asked why a certain electrical connection was the way it was (not right). The answer was just a sighed name, Woody. 

Most people think of Cecil Hurt only in connection with Alabama football and basketball, but he was my college boyfriend.  He was great at anything he wanted to do—wooing me, writing intelligent sports articles, and remembering everything he read.

Cindy Whitcomb, an administrative assistant at UWA was my friend from my first day on that job. She helped me complete all my new employment paperwork and would answer any question I had.  Cindy was an angel on earth and I am thankful that I got to know her.

Family of Laurie

Let me start this section by stating that I didn’t have a family member die until I was 27 years old.  I was blessed to have great-grandparents and grandparents for much of my life.

Arvie Scoggins, or Ma (pronounced Maw), was my paternal great-grandmother. She could cook true southern fried chicken, buttery mashed potatoes, light as air biscuits, and wonderful cakes.  I remember several years after she passed away in 1995 that we ate the last of her pear preserves and we all fell silent for a moment.

George Scoggins, my great-grandfather Pa, was not a person I was close to. He seemed gruff and grumpy all the time, but I did notice how much my grandmother was her daddy’s girl.

B. F. Babb, my maternal grandfather or Papaw, was a country Baptist preacher who took me fishing and let me feed the cows at the farm and pick strawberries.  I remember being terrified of his toupe that “slept” in the guest room on a beauty shop Styrofoam head.

Dororthy Babb, my maternal grandmother, or Mamaw, as all the grandkids called her. She cooked with love and always had a life saver in her purse during preaching at church.

My aunts on my mom’s side, Winona, Linnie, and Jane, were also a big part of my growing up. I would visit them for a week or so each summer.  They all offered different things that I needed. Winona—encouragement in my studies; Linnie—all things fancy including earrings, bracelets, and clothes; and Jane—unconditional love and an adventurous spirit.

On my dad’s side both the uncles that I grew up around, Doug and Steve, took me on some great adventures from riding motorcycles, going fishing, hiking in the North Georgia mountains.  I also remember that they talked to me like I was an adult, not a little kid.

Edgar Fowler Sr., my Papaw Fowler, loved me so much that he didn’t even get mad when I put red, smiley face stickers in the shape of a heart on the door of his truck. Yep, right on the light blue paint. He loved to talk and I wish I had been a better listener.

Katherine Elizabeth Scoggins Fowler, my Grannie, was always my person. I was born about a year after my Uncle Bill was killed in Vietnam.  Grannie taught me to be resilient and to love with abandon and to listen to my heart.

Edgar Fowler Jr. my dad, was taken from the earth way too soon, but in the time he was here he loved me and he told me that all the time.  He was proud of my degrees and my jobs, but he was proudest of the person I had become.

These people are saints to me and I mean to be one, too.